Indie folk’s greatest storyteller once again takes us into her mysterious cosmos of pain and comedy.
Embrace the Weirdness: It’s no secret that Aldous Harding embraces the more strange sides of life in general and in particular. But their fifth album, Train on the Island (incidentally the title of a folk song from the 1920s), serves up a new note: softer, warmer, somehow more relaxed than its predecessor, Warm Chris. And also more melancholic. Maybe we are witnessing a self-discovery. Or rather: the acceptance of herself. After all, the New Zealander has called herself the “Jim Carrey of the indie world”.
And it is precisely this mix of irreverence (in the best sense) and romantic melancholy that she lives out on Train on the Island. It’s like this: the best comedy comes from exactly where the pain lies, and encompasses both the sadness that lies within us all and the horror of the present. Or? But you can’t know. Because Harding is practiced at mixing fact and fiction, absurdity and details in such a way that in the end it remains unclear whether she is serious or not. It also fits well with this strange piece of music, whose rugged musical landscape also reflects the physical landscape in Wales, where Harding recorded again with her regular producer John Parish.
Train on the Island never sounds too comfortable, it eschews casualness. No, the calm here is not one to lean back on, it becomes more hypnotic – like in the opener “I Ate The Most” – and at the same time you keep asking yourself: What did she just sing? And: What did she just do? Beat, rhythms – they’re all just components that you can play around with to surprise the listener. Melodies and harmonies shift, Harding taking us to unexpected places that are both unknown and strangely familiar.
Perhaps this sense of familiarity comes from detailed worldbuilding: Harding is a storyteller who has the talent to draw everyone into this cosmos she is building. Even if it is not entirely clear where it will lead us. She embodies different characters, changes accents and adapts her vocabulary. How does that sound? For example how “One Stop”the lead single from Train on the Island. A piano melody that could be reminiscent of children’s songs would not have that extra layer of nervousness and restlessness on top. Various protagonists talk about unpleasant encounters – for example with John Cale. “I met the real John Cale / He had no words, but I don’t mind / I packed the stage while he ate rice” – did that really happen? Or a surreal daydream? And does that matter?
The characters on Train on the Island seem to feel trapped in hellish landscapes from which they cannot completely escape. “What Am I Gonna Do?” for example, look for the train that will take you away from here. Or the wonderful “Venus In The Zinnia”an almost – almost! – heartwarming cheesy duet with H. Hawkline aka Huw Evans. In addition to him, there were also Joe Harvey-Whyte on steel pedal guitar (which should be around a lot more in pop anyway), Mali Llywelyn on harp, synth artist Thomas Poli and drummer Sebastian Rochford from Polar Bear.
Who exactly is Aldous Harding? We’ll probably never know. With Train on the Island she doesn’t tell us either – but she leaves us with what is possibly her strongest album.
